Better Said In Person
by TheMusicalPoet
Summary: A sweet kind of reflection: After Grissom returns from his sabbatical, he reflects on what's happened, what he's learned, and what he's going to do about Sara. It's like a letter. Takes place after Laws of Gravity. Grissom's POV. PLEASE R&R!


The events that directly followed my return to CSI -- the devastation and the shock surrounding the final few hours of Michael Keppler's life -- were scarcely what I had hoped or expected to see, let alone to put my team through. The loss of any life is tragic, but I sense that Keppler was a strong character, admired by some and at least memorable to everyone else; the loss of his life is especially so. I am not sure how to respond to the tragedy or the deception that he had faced my team with. Some people seem sympathetic, apathetic, frustrated and some downright broken. I would have liked to have had him stay with the lab, working days alongside our investigators, officers, and detectives, and to learn more about him. He made a profound impression for so brief a stay. I am not sure my own impressions are ever as deep wherever I go. I fear, at times, that I might be more like a line drawn in the sand, washed away by persisting waves. Keppler seemed more like a fault line.

It is hard for me to find a place to rest my unsettled feelings about Keppler's untimely death, and I can see in the eyes of my colleagues that they too are struggling to find repose. Weeks away from the lab led me to a cushy, more academic way of living that seems at all once imaginary now that I have crossed the threshold back into the City of Sin. Then again, I knew returning would be hard -- for everyone. I ought to have known I might change while living away in a different atmosphere, and I ought to have expected that Las Vegas would be ever more the same than it has been before. It is a vibrant, harsh city, violent and judgmental. In many ways, I am glad I went away. I was becoming unaware and desensitized, and the city was running out of rollercoasters.

But that being said, I don't want to impress that the time I spent away on sabbatical was perfect, stress-free or purely relaxing. In some ways, it was indeed those things, but really the whole thing felt more like coming in from a winter's night and running my cold hands under hot water. As the shock of change wore off, pain set in. I started thinking about my time in Las Vegas, my friends, my job, my health, and, in a very all-encompassing way, my love life.

I met a few very good friends as I was working out of the lab. Namely, Dr. Robert King, who goes chiefly by "Bob". He was only slightly older than me, and seemed to understand the world in a deeply profound way. He was quiet and soulful. I didn't know this to look at him. I fancied he was more like me than anyone I'd ever met before. That is, until a night mid-leave when I'd gone for a walk. I'd found myself on a bench in a park at dusk, the strawberry pink turning into the calm frosty blue as it does. Lamp lights cast shadows over the creases in my hands and I mulled pointedly over my age, the time I had left, and things I wanted to accomplish. I had been unaware, when Bob had sat down beside me, that he was even approaching.

He said to me in his understated way, "Gilbert, you have a look in your eye that says to me you're in love with the wrong woman."

I cast him a sideways glance and replied, "I love only one woman, and she is the _right _one."

"Then why do you look so worried about getting old?" He murmured.

I sighed. "I want to stay with my team and continue my career. We need to get better, try different things. I have to work harder."

"How much do you work?" He inquired. I looked right at him. "Humh?" He implored.

I considered it. "I don't go home if I don't have to, I suppose."

Bob then sighed. "CSI won't keep you warm at night, Gil Grissom. You're in the love with the wrong woman."

He smiled and got up, creaking off in a very solemn, but charming way, leaving me alone with myself and my thoughts. Bob, I knew, was alone, and his words reached me. They stayed with me after that, day after day, meal after meal, talk after talk, sleep after sleep, and, soon, letter after letter. I couldn't write. I couldn't pick up the phone. The numbness was wearing off and beneath the icy layer, I felt the surge of pain inside of returning warmth.

How I ached for her then.

I remember waking one night from a dream I'd had. My ears were ringing with what had been, in the dream, the agonizing sound of a heart breaking. I was sure that it was Sara's. I could envision her intense brown eyes staring up at me as she had done as if she was still there, beside me as I reclined over her. She seemed always to be searching for something within me with them. It is so hard for me to let down my guard and let others in; to let her in, but I had made so many compromises with myself to end my defiant, stone-heartedness I had displayed for so many years. I am not yet fully changed, I would say, but I am so determined to be in love with the _right_ woman.

Being away for the lab and surrounded more with different types of men and women, I found that I was intensely aware of their interactions. Having not had any mind-possessing cases of late, it allowed me a chance to keep those forensic tools of mine sharp and in good working order.

The men I saw were either brutish and attention-seeking, not unlike the ever-persistent Hodges, or cold, absorbed shells of men existing only for science, unaffected by every potential distraction, Maybe the former was more like myself. A small, admirable handful, however, were sensitive, approachable, respectable types who held doors for other people, offered kind words to socialize, and who bought souvenirs for their friends and families back home. Bob was one of those men. Seeing this led me to conclude that, thought we were not completely alike, he was certainly a virtuosic representation of the sort of man I would aspire to be.

Between assignments and lack of experience, the best gift I could hope to find was a small cocoon that I mailed to Sara as soon as I could. I had written several drafts of letters and could not decide on just one. I decided, once, to let the words flow out of my hand, but I could not bear to send it. Some things are simply better said in person.

Time passed and I found myself on an airport runway in Las Vegas. A short time later, I was back at the lab, ready to undergo the trying chain of events that was soon to follow my arrival.

While in my office, sorting through a variety of mail, I saw her; finally. I swear I heard singing somewhere in my head. I must say, her response seemed less than emphatic. I fear I may not have commenced my aspirations to become a better friend, co-worker, lover or whatever, very well. As she went out of sight, I knew I could do it. I had to. I had to tell her soon; to show her soon. I know what Bob would tell me, and I am so sure that she is the one. In time, I will have her know everything that I have kept so deep inside me for so many long, long years.

Some things are simply better said in person.


End file.
